


2020 Is Trying To Kill Us

by katnisspond



Series: The Ramen Chronicles [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: 2020 roundhouse kicking us all in the dick, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bottom Richie Tozier, Crack Treated Seriously, Dialogue Heavy, Everybody Lives, Everybody Lives/Eddie ALMOST Died, Fix It, M/M, because he's too hung, fair warning, how do they get from COVID-19 to richie's dick?, how much worse can it get???, i mean crispy koalas COME ON, i only have mild regrets, idk Eddie having anxiety, instagram livestreaming at 3 am, lots of cussing, ramen as a coping mechanism, read and see, they wind up discussing richie's dick, yes that is where the discussion will go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23185831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katnisspond/pseuds/katnisspond
Summary: Eddie is doing way better than he used to be with the anxiety but a worldwide epidemic? This calls for some 3 AM Ramen
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: The Ramen Chronicles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2054109
Comments: 12
Kudos: 111





	2020 Is Trying To Kill Us

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I hate the constant COVID-19 talk as much as anyone, especially while self-quarantined for a family member's sake, but...
> 
> Nah, that's about it. I have no excuse for this besides boredom. Also, I've been writing fics for literal years but this is my first time getting to post one so 3 cheers! (and thank you Hugo for making me feel more accepted with my writing and yadda yadda <3 love u friend)

It had been 6 months since his husband had panicked quite to this extent last. And yes, that portrays the situation as somewhat normal but considering who Richie married, it was still a big accomplishment. 

This morning, however, wasn’t normal by any stretch of the imagination. Richie woke stiffly to the distinct sound of shuffling to the right side of their bed - which alone could make anyone lose their shit, but a PTSD-addled, homophobic clown victim? Richie nearly gave himself whiplash spinning to see what the hell was behind him. Luckily after about 3 years of being together, Richie could recognize Eddie’s blurry figure when he saw it. 

“Holy shit, Eds you gave me a fucking heart attack,” Richie grumbled under his breath, reaching blindly for his glasses. “What the fuck are you doing…?” Only once they were securely on his face did he see Eddie’s troubled gaze secured directly on his phone. Richie sighed and shoved back their fluffy comforter. The room was cold, far too cold for Eddie’s pajama shorts and T-shirt alone on the freezing hardwood tile. 

Richie’s heart hurt. The anxiety really was still around 4 years later. Obviously it wasn’t going to go away overnight but… this was serious. More serious than usual even. Eddie hadn’t even responded yet, still pacing in measured strides. Richie knew that no matter how calmly he announced his presence, Eddie would be startled, so he opted for grasping the man’s arm mid-pace to catch his attention. As expected, Eddie still jumped back like he’d been scalded by a hot stove. Richie merely held on with the ghost of a grip, hoping Eddie wouldn't set into a full panic attack.

“Hey, hey, slow down, man. It’s me. It’s only me” As soon as recognition set in, Richie softly pulled Eddie forward to stand between his legs, close enough that his head would be in the way of where Eddie could comfortably hold the phone. It was a slightly shithead move but effective. “Please do fill me in on why our carpet’s getting royally fucked this morning.” Eddie gave a shaky exhale and dropped the phone to the bed, hugging Richie tightly. While comforting, Richie could hear Eddie’s heart rate absolutely tap dancing as he tried to calm down. 

“I’m… trying not to lose my shit. It’s not working so far.” Richie gave a humorless laugh. 

“Clearly.” The halfhearted slap on the back of his head was worth it. 

“Asshole,” Eddie replied fondly. That was something they’d truly enjoyed over the past few years. Their ferocity and bickering never truly died: it merely evolved into a much more open display of affection than it was before Derry 2.0. ‘Douchenozzle’ was always the nickname Eddie would layer with the biggest puppy dog eyes for some reason.  
It took a few moments of being a human stress ball for a very fit man before Richie finally gleamed any info on the situation.

“There’s uh… a virus thingy?" Eddie said shakily. "I’m trying to think it through rationally because my counselor always says to use logic but logic is really failing me this time.” Richie looked up, pulling Eddie further forward to stretch out his back (and cross his legs around Eddie’s as a pants replacement because it really was freezing in there).

“I guess I understand why you were having a moment then but it’s probably a little overblown online. New flu strain or something.” Eddie’s eyebrows scrunched up and he let out a growl, pulling away. While his therapist called it anger issue-induced anxietal explosions, Richie knew from many years of letting his best friend vent their frustrations that this was probably the best chain of events - as long as Eddie cooled off rather than wound down into actual tears. It was a 50/50 every time. 

“No, it not- It’s not that fucking simple! Apparently it’s spreading like a fucking wildfire and there’s footage of people literally falling over and shit and- and don’t even get me started on how badly it has to be for it to trend on 6 tags on Twitter! So I shut that app the fuck off! Because you’re right, the internet over blows these things and WebMD is actual shit but there are fucking news articles and closures and- The CDC is publicly sparring with the rest of the government apparently- and this is what really fucks with me, it effects two main groups! As a respiratory disease it affects older generations and those with serious preexisting conditions!”

“But, Eds, you’ve never had asthma?” Eddie shook his head and crossed the room again, placing a hand along Richie’s jawline with an almost apologetic expression. The soft tone was a far cry from his rant, revealing that he wasn’t venting so much as proving a particularly important point. 

“I got fucking impaled, Rich.” Eddie’s voice cracked a little. “I- My lung functions at 75% on a good day. The only reason I can drag you out on runs is because we’re at sea level. That’s why I’m having such a hard time with this. It’s- It’s an actual death sentence for me.” Richie felt his heart drop. Knowing Eddie had been working so hard not to take these things to heart was an extra nail in that coffin. 

“Well… shit.” Eddie gave a wet laugh. He was on the verge of tears but surprisingly held together considering the circumstances. 

“Exactly. Honestly, if you were worried about the carpet, don’t marry a hypochondriac with a hole in his chest 3 years before a fucking plague.” Richie snorted and buried his face in Eddie’s soft white T-Shirt. It smelled like their detergent was being held directly under Richie’s nose but it was worth it for Eddie’s fingers to trail along his hairline. 

“Dammit, Eds…” Richie lamented, muffled by the fabric. “I thought all of that, ‘the love of your life is gonna die real soon’ mindfuckery was decommissioned until we were too old to get it up.”

“That’s what Viagra is for, dipshit. And apparently 2020 is aiming for a home run. Come on, I’m done pouting in the bedroom. I’ve done enough worrying about this as it is.” Eddie grabbed Richie’s hand and pulled them towards the bathroom, playfully swinging him inside before ducking out of the room. 

“Hey, isn’t it like, 3 AM?” 

“I can't get to sleep like this so deal with it, fucko.” Richie peaked around the doorway at Eddie before slipping back into the bathroom to take a piss. 

“Oooo 3 AM Ramen and Instagram sesh? You, me, and whoever else wants to commiserate with some old white men?” Richie suggested. Try as Eddie might to seem unaffected by the comment, Richie still heard the resulting snort.

“I hate you! Boiling water now!” Eddie called back, echoing through the home. Richie grinned. Before he left for the kitchen (and after he washed his hands, thank you very much) he did stop to check his phone though. Sure enough, Twitter was on fire, they managed to politicize a virus, and people were dumb enough to stop buying a beer brand just because it had the same name. Internally, Richie made a to-do list. 

1\. Buy some of that beer out of sympathy for the company that got him through a majority of college.  
2\. Give their cleaning lady some paid time off to look after her kindergartener.  
3\. Self quarantine, baby! Like hell he was letting anyone cough at himself or his husband. Plus, that avoids any worry about antibacterial procedures and basically any of the bajillion triggers Sonia so lovingly ingrained in the fabric of her son’s mental state.  
4\. Send another ‘fuck you to the clown’. Because fuck that clown. 

By the time Richie finally entered the kitchen, Eddie was setting out their ramen in coffee mugs. The Loser’s Club had been over the night before and they’d forgotten to start the dishwasher. 

“Ooo, nice. Very chaotic. I like how you think, Spagheds.” 

“Uh huh. Your fans probably won’t even blink an eye seeing as how you have exactly one brain cell bouncing around in that skull of yours like a Windows screensaver.” 

“Excuse you! I am a genius with at least three! And they’re your fans too!” 

“Nope. I disowned them after the wave controversy.” Eddie took a seat beside Richie at the table as Richie loaded up the live stream. Knowing they were entering mid-conversation was half of the fun with these things. Their first official 3 AM ramen live session commenced with bickering, as god truly intended.

“He says like a bunch of teenagers photoshopping waves onto his forehead was a controversy rather than really fucking funny.” 

“Fuck you. It hurt my feelings.” 

“Eddie Kaspbrack having an emotion outside of unfiltered rage? I’m impressed.” Eddie snorted and took a forkful of ramen. The camera angle was finally achieved, placed against the fancy centerpiece Ben gifted them last winter in replacement of their customary Star Wars popcorn bucket full of fake fruit. Now it was a pretty decor statue thing but Eddie insisted on keeping it for the ‘sentimental value’. “Anyway, hello friends! How goes it? Eddie and I are having some depression ramen so feel free to hit us up with questions!”

“And for the record, we are not depressed,” Eddie clarified through noodles as Instagram users had already begun flooding the corner with hearts. “Richie is just gay and dramatic.” Richie gave a fake pout before turning to the comments section. 

“Rude. Ha! Someone wants to know how you caught a wild Trashmouth but gotta say, other way around, bud. It’s not easy catching a piece of that juicy ass.” Eddie’s nose wrinkled up. 

“Who thought giving you the ability to use English- or even words in general- was a good idea?” 

“What? It’s scrumptious!” Eddie gave a gag that was so realistic, it may have actually been real. “Bigdicktozier? Love the username. Absolutely beautiful. Look at this masterpiece over here, spitting facts.” Eddie gave Richie a deadpan glare before going back to digging into his ramen. Richie loved moments like these where he could openly show off his husband’s general aura of not-taking-a-single-shit. Richie got away with nothing and he loved every second of it. 

When their view count had reached close to 7,000, however, the chat took on a mind of its own.

“Um, Eddie? Are you seeing this?” Eddie leaned in for a few moments before accidentally barking out a laugh, sitting back to attempt stifling it with his palm. 

“Oh my fucking god. All of them.” Richie was similarly stunned at the coordination. The entire chat had decided to spam them- no, interrogate them about Richie’s dick size. The second the topic had risen, everyone save for very few concerned individuals began sending questions in every which direction, all regarding Richie’s dick. 

“Do you want to back me up here, Eds? Confirmation of my massive wang once and for all?” Eddie couldn’t help but finally break down in laughter as Richie turned to him, eyebrows raised expectantly. 

“Oh no. No, no, no, no. It’s against my moral code. Not a chance.” 

“Aw, not willing to back me up here, Eddie? Not willing to prove that I’ve been telling the truth all these years?” 

“Fuck, I hate you,” Eddie replied, face buried in his hands. “I would still wreck you. I could end your career in one blow with the information I hold, Trashmouth. You get both or none.” Richie flashed a devious grin to the camera. This conversation was a far cry from COVID-19 panic so Richie thought, 'what the hell, why not pursue it?'

“Oh, worth it. Now please, Edmundo, please regale the length of my length for our audience.” 

“How is this the first time this has happened?” Eddie cried. “You- You’re you! This! I cannot believe I’m agreeing to this.” Richie patted him on the back with faux solidarity.

“I hear you, Edwindow, truly. It has to be hard to admit such an utter defeat.” Eddie finally dropped his hand to the table and looked to the ceiling, taking a deep breath. 

“Oh my god. If any of my coworkers see this… My blood pressure alone tonight… Whatever. Fine! Fine,” he threw his hands up in defeat. “Jesus. Basically, this fucker, this absolute dipshit mcfuckwad…Yes, my husband is hung.” Richie gave a yelp of achievement, punching the air like his underdog team had finally scored in the last half of the game.That was until he lost in the resulting penalty shoot out. “I mean, Jesus, the man has a hard time buying pants for fucks sake! But the way he uses it is criminal. Because he doesn’t. He’s a fucking bottom.” Silence filled the room. Richie gaped and legitimately dropped the spoon he was holding. 

“Edward.” 

With a barely contained smile, Eddie returned to his soup nonchalantly. 

“I’ve said my piece.” 

“Eddie, you absolute- You did not just- You little shit. My fucking career- oh god. I should not have taken the bait.” Eddie couldn’t help but snicker by that point.  
“You wanna check the comments section now, you walking dildo? Feel free. I’m sure they’re doing great,” he added with a teasing lilt. Richie chose to stare at his ramen with the fear of god in his eyes. 

“Now everyone knows I chose to get fucked by a man who can’t even reach the top shelf.” Eddie flicked soup at him for the height thing but otherwise remained amiable to the comment. He squinted at the screen before chuckling and responding to the question. 

“Why don’t I bottom? I don’t know, it’s uncomfortable? I’m a relatively moderate sized human and he’s fucking hung. He could hit shuffle on my innards if he tried hard enough.”

“I think I did that one time.”

“Oh god, yeah. I was pretty positive I needed to go to the hospital. We prepped for ages and I still felt like someone was driving a Mac truck through a very tiny orpheus. As a side note to any young gay guys out there or women who feel like trying the wrong hole-” Richie started cackling as Eddie continued. “If it won’t fit down your throat, your ass probably won’t help the situation either.” Richie wheezed. 

“Eddie,” he squeaked.

“What?” Eddie replied, mimicking the high pitched tone mockingly. 

“You can’t just say that!” 

“What? It’s valuable information alright! And no, I do not have a tiny mouth for the record! That was not the problem!” Richie left the chair to wheeze closer to the floor. “The problem is that some people are genuinely too big! Fact of life! Bigfoot over here just so happens to be one of those people!” Eddie looked down at his husband fondly where he was offscreen on the actual ground. Neither of them saw it but the chat was eager to point out how soft the usually feisty man was towards his currently dying spouse.  
“Eddie, I’m not sure if this livestream was the best or worst moment of my life!” Eddie shrugged, grabbing Richie by the shoulders and heaving him back into his seat with far less difficulty than a man of his size and age should be capable of. 

“It is entirely about your dick and how you use it so at this point, jury’s out, hon.” It was rare that Eddie used a genuine pet name so Richie could tell he had already loosened up from earlier in a big way (pun unintended but much appreciated). Even though Richie was officially outed as a raging bottom, he could eat his soup with pride knowing that a) he really was hung dammit, and b) Eddie Tozier no longer gave a singular shit about some virus sweeping the nation. Yeah, the worst had yet to come, but as Eddie cheerfully wrecked him on their livestream, eyes crinkled with laughter as he wolfed down moderately room temperature soup, Richie knew they were going to be okay.


End file.
